Adrian Lessons (13 page)

At the words ‘purely sexual’
,
a shiver grips my spine. I think Adrian might be similarly affected, because he hardens all over. And I mean all over.

“Come on, then,” I muster up the courage to say, fingering the lacy edge of my panties. “Inspire me.”

He actually growls, low in his throat, and suddenly he’s on top of me, his fingers

digging into the couch cushions on either side of me, his knee pressed against my bare thigh. His face is inches from mine, and a slight, dark smile curves the edges of his lips.

My lungs go on vacation.

“This is where Jonathan’s dominant side comes out,” says Marie. “He’s in charge. He tells her what to do and she loves it.” She clears her throat. Things are clearly about to hear up, and as much as Marie has surprisingly been more relaxed on the subject of sexual things as of late, I don’t think she’s ready for this. “I’m going out to get some lunch. Adrian, it’s all you.”

Oh yes it is.

And Marie walks out the door.

“Open your legs,” says Adrian in a low, controlling voice. A thrill runs through me, and my thighs fall open. He traces each of my legs, running his fingers from my ankles to my inner thighs, stopping just short of my panties. He’s barely restraining himself. There’s so much built up inside him. I want to experience all of it.

What would it be like…to feel him inside me.

He takes the whipped cream and draws a line up each of my legs, following the path his fingers just took. The cream is cold from the fridge, and I shiver. But the coldness is quickly followed by his hot tongue, licking the cream slowly up my leg, like a lit fuse on a stick of dynamite, headed to an unavoidable location.

Again, he stops just short of my panties. The sight of his gorgeous face between my legs makes me shudder. He starts on the other leg. “Describe this.”

“Okay, okay…” My voice seems to have been misplaced under a mountain of arousal, and it takes me a moment to locate it. When I speak, I don’t even recognize the sound of myself. Husky and raw. “He licks the cream off my skin, tracing a path of fire all the way up to my inner thigh. He…sprays whipped cream all around the edge of my panties…and then licks it off, not stopping until he’s touched every part of me down there with his tongue
except
the part I need him to.”

My skin is singing. I grit my teeth. “Adrian. Please.”

“Tell me what you want me to do.” His voice is rough, commanding. How much of this is him, and how much of this is him playing along? He runs his tongue over the edge of me, half an inch from…

“You know what I want you to do,” I choke out.

Damn it. My plan was to drive
him
crazy, but he’s gotten the best of me again. I’m squirming, begging.

He takes the crotch of my panties in his teeth, draws them back, and lets them snap hard against me. They hit my clit sharply and a shockwave radiates through me, mingling with the pain. I gasp.

“You’ll come when
I
decide you’re ready to come. And not a second before,” he says.

I’ve never wanted anything so badly in my life as how bad I need to come right now. It’s almost painful. I look up at the glimmer in Adrian’s eyes, and realize…he’s in total control of my body. He knows how I work, and he’s expertly feeding me just enough pleasure to keep me on the edge without pushing me over. I realize I’ve been on the edge since that night at the fountain.

“Why are you doing this?” I gasp out as he draws a line of whipped cream over my ribcage.

“When I finally do make you come, I want it to mean something, Cleo.” He licks up the cream beneath my breasts. “I want you to have the best orgasm I’ve ever given a girl. And that means…waiting.”

I want to protest, want to tell him he’s literally killing me, but I can’t speak. But I force myself to. “Take off my bra.”

And then I yelp the tiniest bit as he snaps my panties against my slit again. “I’ll decide what I want to take off or leave on,” he says.

“Okay,
Jonathan
,” I say.

He grins, just barely, and reaches around to unhook my bra. Now I’m a thin scrap of lace away from being entirely naked underneath him, at his mercy. He sprays a line of whipped cream over my nipples, over the tops of my breasts, and I shudder knowing his mouth will soon be following. I reach up to touch his chest, unable to keep my hands off any longer, but he grabs my wrists and pins them to the couch.

“Talk about what I’m doing to you,” he demands. “Tell me how much you like it.”

And then he lowers his mouth to my breasts.

I moan as he laps the cream off my skin, tasting me savagely. “He pulls my right nipple into his mouth and runs his tongue over my sensitive skin. I can feel it all the way to my core. He’s enjoying it. I’ve never been…
savored
before.”

He releases my wrists and pins me with his knees instead, pulling and playing with both my nipples as he kisses me savagely. He tastes so sweet. I moan into his mouth.

“Adrian…”

There’s a hard knock on the door and Marie reappears with the bag of the fastest fast food. “I think she’s had enough,” Marie calls, slight concern etched on her brow at the sight of us. Poor Marie—she must have gotten worried. Poor me, though, because Adrian is pulling back. And smirking.

“You mean she can’t
get
enough.”

It’s true.

I can’t get enough of the Sex King.

“I hope you guys worked up some inspiration,” Marie says in hesitantly as Adrian hands me my bra. I have to breathe deeply before I can take it. I want to melt into the couch. Alternatively, the core of the earth, where it’ll match the heat in my body.

Adrian is leaning against the arm of the couch, his perfect body curved away from me, smirking.

“That’s it.” I shoot upright and yank on my bra, then my shirt, mindful of the fact that I’ve left a damp spot on the couch. Serves you right, Marie. “I’m not doing this anymore.”

Marie stops. “Say what?”

The smirk slips off Adrian’s face, which is just the result I wanted.

“I can’t—” Take this anymore. “—believe you guys thought this was a good idea. Marie, you’ve cashed in your favor. I don’t need to keep this up.”

“You only needed to do it the first time,” Adrian points out. “Today was your idea.”

Stupid Adrian and his stupid logic and his extremely stupid six pack. I’m burning that couch, because I’ll never get the sight of him sitting on it out of my mind’s eye. Actually, I’ll auction it off to the Psychology Club.

“Thank you, Adrian, you’ve been most helpful,” I say emphatically. “But I can take it from here. I don’t need you touching me and rubbing me and…kissing me…I don’t need
any
of that to write.”

Marie is flapping her hands at me like she might be able to wave away my hissy fit. Sorry, sister, this hissy fit is brewing into a hissy tornado.

“But Cleo!” she begs. “I sent the scene you wrote after our last session to my editor. She freaked at how hot it was. Said she wanted me to start coming up with pitches for a possible book three. Book
three
! We can’t stop now!”

“You can’t rely on me to hold up your career forever.”

“She’s got a point,” Adrian muses.

I round on him. “And you! Wipe that grin off your face.”

He scoops an errant bit of whipped cream from the rim of the tube and sucks it off his forefinger. “It’s hard to stop grinning. I
was
just licking whipped cream off your nipples.”

He’s got a point.

But I shake it off and point at him again. “You think you’re so hot, with your goddamn muscles and tattoo and eyes and—”

“You seem to think I’m pretty hot too.” He runs a finger over the damp spot I left on the couch.

“That’s—” I splutter. “I spilled water this morning!”

His grin widens. “Of course you did.”

“Ugh!” All this sexual tension is burning me up, and it’s coming out through my temper. At the same time, I realize I’m still just in panties and a T-shirt. I snatch my jeans up off the floor, sling them over my shoulder just to emphasize how little of a fuck I give, and storm into my room, slamming the door behind me.

“I’ll handle this,” I hear Adrian tell Marie.

Which is why I’m prepared when he opens my door.

“Handle this!” I throw my jeans at him.

He peels them off his face, slowly, and sniffs them. “You need to do laundry.”

Blood rushes to my face. “Those—I just washed those—I mean maybe I wore them twice without washing them but—okay, maybe three times—”

“Calm down, Cleo,” he laughs, folding them and setting them on my chair. The gentle gesture catches me off guard. “I was kidding. They smell fine.”

“I knew that. I was kidding too. Like I’d ever wear pants more than once without washing them,” I sniff. “What kind of slob do you think I am?”

He sits on the edge of my bed. The Sex King. On my bed. My mind is immediately awash with the possibilities, and I need to bite my tongue to calm down.

“I think I know what’s got you so worked up,” he says.

“Is that so? Because the thing I’m worked up about is…the Middle East. Yeah, our foreign policy sure is a mess, isn’t it? I’m just a very political person, you see, and sometimes—”

“It’s not like I haven’t been doing it on purpose,” he cuts in through my blathering.

I freeze. “Doing what? The Middle East?”

“…No. I mean that I know you’re worked up because I’ve been getting you so
worked up
,” he says, his eyes lowering. I’m still not wearing any pants. I yank the blanket over my thighs.

“I’m sorry,” he says, covering his hand with mine. I’m so jazzed that even his hand on my hand makes me flush. “It is easy, though. You’re probably the easiest girl to get worked up that I’ve ever known. I mean, all I have to do is…”

He plants a light kiss underneath my ear, on a very sensitive spot. I shiver and swat him away.

“Well, you try having a boyfriend that you’re moderately attracted to and for some reason he doesn’t want to have sex with you for the three years you’re together—”

He places a finger over my lips.

“I don’t want to hear about you being attracted to anyone else, especially the world’s biggest fucking idiot,” he says in a low voice. “I only want to hear about you being attracted to me.”

Great. Now there’s a damp spot on these sheets, too.

Suddenly he grins. “What I’m saying is, I know how repressed you are.”

I throw up my hands. “At this point, I think my sexual repression is acting as a beacon for aliens from outer space, so the aliens know too.”

“It’s my fault,” he says quietly. “I haven’t been letting you get your release. And it’s true that, when it comes, I want it to be spectacular for you. But it’s also true that I’m afraid.”

“Afraid?” I laugh. “I didn’t know you were afraid of things like a normal human being.”

“I’m a very normal human being,” he says, his brows furrowing. “And when I say I had a crush on you in high school, Cleo…I know I haven’t explained it all to you yet, but it was a lot more than a crush. There’s a reason I couldn’t let you go. And it’s the reason why I haven’t given you what you want yet. I’m scared that once you get it, you’ll walk away.”

My irritation subsides as I realize he’s being totally genuine. There’s a raw edge to his words, the one that comes up whenever he talks about his feelings for me. The one that frightens me with how real it is. And how different this Adrian is from the grinning, cocky Sex King.

“Come home with me this weekend,” he says. “I want you to meet my mom.”

I draw my knees up to my chest. “Everything’s just…happening so fast with us, is all. The way I see you keeps changing. First I thought you just wanted to get with me to knock off something on an old high school bucket list, but after last night…”

He stares at me. God, he’s so beautiful. It makes me lose my train of thought.

“After last night you’re not so sure,” he supplies.

I nod.

“You shouldn’t be.” He cups my cheek. “I don’t just want to
get with you.
I want so much more than that. All of you, for starters.”

I want to fold myself into the warm look in his eyes, but something inside me draws back. “I…I can’t. I still…”

“It’s okay.” He doesn’t take his eyes away from mine. “I would wait a whole lot of forevers for you.”

His honesty is piercing. I shiver. Why can’t I remember what happened between us in high school?

“All right.” I stand up, throwing the blanket aside. “I’ll go with you back home. And, once we’re back there, will you promise to tell me about the night we met in high school?”

“Fair enough.” He nods. “One more thing.”

“What is it?” Is he about to profess his love for me?

“It’s hard for me to tell you this, but I feel like I owe it to you to be honest.”

Oh God. He is.

He points downward.

“You’re still not wearing any pants.”

~13~

ADRIAN

Girls are intimidated by my mom.

Which is one of the many, many reasons why I’ve never brought a girl home before.

Girls are intimidated by my mom for two reasons:

It’s her job to be beautiful. Which, to me, has always seemed fundamentally wrong. Moms should be squat and poofy-haired and dumpy, so that their poor suffering sons don’t have to endure their male friend’s tongues hanging out whenever they catch a glimpse of her.

I don’t really bring male friends home, either.

Because the second reason girls, and people in general, are intimidated by my mom, are the specifics of her job—

“Agh! Adrian! I’m so wet. Look—my shorts are soaked. Can you take care of this for me? I don’t know how to do it myself.”

I spring to the side of the lawn, turning off the sprinkler system. Cleo stands dripping, swearing so creatively that my affection for her grows another few inches, among other things.

I turn, expecting Cleo to be pissed, but instead she’s staring openmouthed at my house. “You live
here?
Are you sure you didn’t take a wrong turn and bring us to Taylor Swift’s new mansion or something?”